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CJje l^allep of Eobe. 


Price 50 Cents 



BY 


WILLIAM LEE POPHAM 






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©CI,A273(;55 


Copyright 1910 


BY 

WILLIAM LEE POPHAM 


J|C ♦ J|e 3|C ♦ 


THE AUTHOR’S OTHER BOOKS. 


“Poems of Truth, Love and Power.” 
“Silver Gems in Seas of Gold.” 
“Nut Shells of Truth.” 

“Love’s Rainbow Dream.” 

“She Dared to Win.” 

“A Tramp’s Love.” 

“The Village by the Sea.” 


Cjje l^allep of lobe. 


BY 

William Lee Popham 


Keader, did you ever visit the 
mountains of Kentucky where the 
white oaks salute heaven and where 
the laughing waters flow down the 
valley a-singing on their journey 
toward the distant sea? 

“The Kentucky mountains for 
my vacation,” said Cleveland Wil- 
more, the author, “for ’tis there 
where I shall find both rest and 
pleasure.” “Going to finish your 
new book while you’re close to 
Nature’s heart, I suppose?” said a 
friend at the depot. The author an- 
swered by opening his grip, which 
5 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


revealed a bunch of writing tablets 
and pencils, remarfcing: “This 
looks like the promise of an au- 
thar’s pen, does it not?” 

The next moment Cleveland Wil- 
more was seated in the parlor ear 
while the train rolled slowly away 
from the Union Station. After the 
city limits were left far behind, the 
conductor, a jolly friend of the au- 
thor, took a ticket from Wilmore’s 
hand which shciwed the destination 
to be Somerset, a small, beautiful 
city near the Kentucky mountains. 

Cleveland Wilmore’s ticket was 
the last one to be collected from the 
city passengers and this gave the 
conductor a good chance to linger 
with the author in conversation. 

“What’s the attraction at Somer- 
set?” asked the conductor, smiling. 

“Off for the mountains,” an- 


6 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


swered Wilmore, “for pleasure, 
work and rest.” 

“A queer combination,” re- 
sponded the conductor, “but I guess 
the ‘pleasure’ will be at Somerset?” 

“Nothing for me at Somerset,” 
answered Wilmore. 

“What about your friend, Madge 
Ross?” inquired the conductor. 

Wilmore laughed heartily, say- 
ing, “You have picked the wrong 
one; it is her chum, Una Nelson, 
whom I admire.” 

“Admire is a queer name for 
love,” joked the conductor. 

“You are too wise,” answered 
Wilmore. “How came you to know 
so much?” 

“Why, boy, I’ve known those 
girls since they were children,” re- 
sponded the conductor, “and both 
often ask of you, knowing that I 
am an old friend of your father.” 

7 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“I believe you stop at tbeir 
uncle’s inn,” said Wilmore, “where 
they spend much of their time?” 

“Yes, I’m wiser than you know; 
while I don’t know which one you 
favor, I do know that both girls love 
you.” 

“Do you think so?” questioned 
the author, looking anxious. 

“I know so,” responded the con- 
ductor. 

“I thought Madge was in love 
with a young doctor,” said Wil- 
more. 

“She once admired a young doc- 
tor who lived in the city,” respond- 
ed: the conductor, “but she only 
treats him as a friend since she met 
you.” 

“How do you know?” asked Wil- 
more. 

“Why, she seems like my own 
sister,” answered the conductor, 
8 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“and confides in me as she would 
her brother. ’ ’ 

“Then I’m glad to listen to you,” 
said Wilmore. “Proceed.” 

“At one time she might have been 
won by the young doctor, but you 
know,” continued the conductor, 
“that her ambition is higher than 
to join life with a young physician 
whose reputation is yet unmade, 
and, besides, she likes travel, de- 
sires to see the world and her tastes 
run along literary lines.” 

“ Yes ; I believe you know her na- 
ture,” said Wilmore, “but I most 
like her chum, Una Nelson, the little 
girl with brown eyes and auburn 
hair.” 

“Miss Nelson is a fine girl,” en- 
couraged the conductor, “and her 
parents are among the best people 
the ‘bluegrass belt’ can afford.” 

“It would be a source of pleasure 
9 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


to know that she admires me,” 
mused the author. 

"“If she doesn’t love you, my 
friend, I can not judge human na- 
ture,” said the conductor as he 
arose to assist some passengers at 
the station. 

At this point Cleveland Wilmore 
was left in his seat alone and his 
thoughts resembled a dream. There 
were no passengers in the end of 
the parlor car where the young man 
sat, and while the cars flew by the 
fertile fields like a bird, an author’s 
brains were engrossed in thought. 

“I regret that I ever cultivated 
the acquaintance of Madge Boss,” 
thought Wilmore, “for the young 
doctor is perfectly welcome to her 
as far as I am concerned.” 

Cleveland Wihnore was at a loss 
to know how to call at the inn where 
the two girls lived — to evade the 
10 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


one and court the other. This was 
his desire, for he thought that he 
admired Una more than Madge. 
Six hours later the conductor came 
to the parlor car and called out: 
“Somerset the next stop!” while 
the author breathed a sigh of relief. 

After Cleveland Wilmore had ar- 
rived in the beautiful mountain 
town, he wrote a letter to the one 
at the inn he most admired, which 
read in part as follows : 

“Somerset Ky. 
“Miss Una Nelson, City. 

“Dear Miss Nelson: I have just 
arrived and would like to see you 
before leaving for the mountains. 

“If agreeable, please inform me 
where and when to call. 

Very truly yours, 
Cleveland Wilmore.” 

When Una received the note she 
answered it at once as follows: 

11 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


^‘Mr. Cleveland Wilmore, 

City. 

“Dear Friend: I gladly await 
your call in my parlor at 8 o’clock 
this evening. 

Respectfully, 

Una Nelson. 

Care ‘The Inn,’ Somerset, Ky.” 

Cleveland Wilmore had corre- 
sponded in the “post-card fashion” 
with both Una Nelson and Madge 
Ross, and had proven to be a true 
friend to each. Although his desire 
at this time was to pay attention to 
Una, yet when he was with the two 
girls together, he hardly knew 
whom he most admired. 

Una and Madge were cousins and 
had come from their beautiful 
country homes to their uncle’s inn, 
in Somerset, where they could enjoy 
the advantages of college life and 
city environments. Soon as Una 
12 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


answered the author’s letter accept- 
ing his call, she went to Madge’s 
room delighted, to break the news. 
Madge read the missive Wilmore 
had written her cousin and dropped 
her eyes as in deep study. It was a 
half minute before Madge spoke, 
while Una expressed her pleasant 
anticipation of his promised call. 

“He might have sent me a greet- 
ing, anyway,” was the first sen- 
tence Madge uttered. 

“Maybe he prefers to greet you 
face to face,” encouraged Una. 

“I shall not come in the par- 
lor tonight,” replied Madge, “un- 
less he sends for me.” With 
these words, Madge left Una alone 
in the room and went into a vacant 
room in the corner of the building. 

“Cousin Madge envies my pleas- 
ure in entertaining the author,” 
said Una to herself. Una’s curios- 


13 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


ity was aroused and she went to the 
door of the vacant room where 
Madge had just gone and peeped 
thru the key-hole. 

“Perhaps this is wrong,” said 
Una’s conscience to her better self, 
“but I must have one peep,” she 
thought. 

“Poor girl!” sighed Una to 
herself, as she put her eye to the 
key-hole. Madge was lying across 
the bed with her face downward, 
crying. 

“She loves him, too,” thought 
Una. 

This scene mixed sadness with 
Una’s joy, and before going into 
the parlor where she was to enter- 
tain Cleveland Wilmore that even- 
ing, she crossed to the parlor li- 
brary and sought some of Wil- 
more ’s books, gazed at his picture, 
and read from his skilled pen, until 
14 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Madge came into the library where 
Una was seated. Her usually beau- 
tiful eyes showed that more than a 
surprise had been wrought by Wil- 
more’s note to Una. They showed 
that pain and disappointment 
lurked within her pure soul, and 
that she was miserable. Una saw 
this in an instant, and was at a loss 
to express herself. She was afraid 
to offer sympathy, although she 
longed to. 

While they had been life-long 
friends and loved each other, not 
only by the tie of kindred, but by a 
stolid happy companionship, still in 
this sudden awakening, they seemed 
hut strangers. 

But soon the piano keys were 
busy, and two feminine voices were 
singing as though the whole world 
was a blossom of joy, seemingly 
forgetting the afternoon’s experi- 
ence and the evening’s anticipation, 
15 


CHAPTEE II. 


Eight o’clock found Cleveland 
Wilmore in the beautiful inn parlor 
with Una Nelson — and soon, at the 
author’s request, they were joined 
by Madge Boss. 

Una wore a single white rose at 
her throat, giving touch to the sim- 
ple frock which she wore, while 
Madge wore a cluster of dainty vio- 
lets, nestling in the folds of the soft 
gown, showing a radiance, beautiful 
to behold. 

‘ ‘ Faithfulness, ’ ’ Madge had whis- 
pered as she fastened the violets 
there. 

“But he does not care for my 
faithfulness now.” 

Both girls were beautiful and 
talked freely. The caller showed no 
more courtesy to one than the other 
16 


THE VALLEY OFLOVE 


and the evening was pleasantly 
spent in poetry, music, song, story 
and conversation. 

The next afternoon, before leav- 
ing for the solitude of the pictur- 
esque mountains, the author called 
at the inn and took both Una and 
Madge for a pleasant drive. 


17 


CHAPTER III. 


At the small railroad station in the 
mountains Cleveland Wilmore was 
met by many friends and inquiring 
strangers. The people shook his 
hand like he had been an honored 
politician just elected to some great 
office of trust and responsibility. 

Indeed, the reception accorded 
him was in the mountain style. Ox 
wagons stood around the station, 
while buggies, wagons and saddled 
horses were thick along the rocky 
roadside. 

Although the place the author 
had chosen to rest and write, as well 
as to fish and hunt, was in the feud 
center of the Kentucky mountains, 
the natives received him kindly and 
opened their homes in welcome to 
the city guest. His close friends 
18 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


had previously advised him to take 
no sides regarding the feuds which 
have given the Kentucky mountains 
their “bad name” — and the author 
was master of the situation. While 
the mission of his visit was gener- 
ally known to be one of harmony 
and pleasure, a few of the “moun- 
tain fellows” were “suspicious.” 

Some imagined him to be a rev- 
enue olBcer, some a detective, others 
thought he might be a “ feud peace- 
maker,” while others believed him 
to be a “coal hunter.” In some 
parts of the mountains are oper- 
ated large coal mines, and it is 
thought that many undiscovered 
mines might be slumbering in the 
mountain’s fertile bosom. Wilmore 
was not surprised to find the men 
carrying revolvers in their belts. 
Indeed, the “Colts” were quite in 
the fashion. 


19 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Soon the kind author’s mission 
was understood by all, and if there 
was any inharmony among the na- 
tives on the author ’s account, it was 
because he couldn’t visit “every- 
body’s” home at the same time. At 
no place in the world is there more 
hospitality than in the mountains of 
Kentucky. The log houses are low 
and small, but love and loyalty are 
within. The cabins are unpainted, 
the doors swing on wooden hinges 
and the “fire place” is immense. 
But the “latch string” hangs on 
the outside and the stool chairs are 
always ready to rest the “tired 
bones” of a weary traveler. 

The author was a man of power 
and personality. His clear, expres- 
sive eyes were mirrors of a noble 
soul and a warm heart. 

His hand clasp made one feel the 
thrill of his love for his fellow-man 
20 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


— and his writings were known by 
millions to be soothing balm for 
struggling humanity. 

To be with him was to admire 
him and to read the beautiful flow 
from his pen was to love him. 

His very nature was love. He 
had a “great time with the boys,” 
as he often expressed it, and both 
boys and girls looked upon the vis- 
itor as “some strange being full of 
brains, love and kindness.” 

The author was often amused at 
the queer ways of the mountain na- 
tives. When the girls “dressed 
up” they wore blue, red, pink or 
“striped calico.” 

The boys wore black and tan 
jeans and coarse brogan shoes. 

‘ ‘ Stranger, ’ ’ said a large, 
^double-fisted’ man to the author, 
“we’ve fixed up the cabin fur ye 
to-night. ” “We killed a buck, some 
21 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


squirrels and a pig; and Bob — 
that’s Sally’s feller — is going to 
bring us some fish he ketched last 
night. And stranger, ye is jist mor ’ 
an welcome to it all, sich as it is. 
The gals and boys from the hollow 
will he thar with their banjos and 
fiddles and make music sich as ye 
never heam before.” 

The author shook the native’s big 
hand heartily and said: “Friend, 
tell them I’ll be on hand, and that 
I will show them how a city chap 
can eat fish and enjoy a good time.” 

Enough to say that Wilmore was 
on hand and actually enjoyed it all. 

In response to requests, the au- 
thor read several pieces from one 
of his books and the natives listened 
as tho’ it were from an angel. 

“It’s blasted strange,” said the 
mother of fourteen children, “how 
ye kin write them thar books.” 

22 


CHAPTER IV. 


The next morning, after a hearty 
breakfast, Cleveland W i 1 m o r e 
“took for the woods,” as one of the 
girls expressed it. 

He swung into the road with a 
whistle and walked with a free, 
easy stride that was somehow sug- 
gestive of reserve strength and 
power, down the long slope of the 
hill. The maples crowded thickly 
the roadside on either hand and be- 
neath them were beds of tender 
green, curly young ferns. Here and 
there a wild plum hung out its 
feathery bloom like a banner of 
springtime. The air was fragrant 
and balmy with wandering breezes. 
Now and then Wilmore met some 
sallow lad on horseback or a 
shrewd-faced farmer on a cart, who 
23 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


nodded and called out cheerily, 
“Howdy, Stranger?” 

Below the hill he could hear the 
rippling of the brook — and across 
the woodland dell he heard the yell 
of the cowboys. 

The creek road ran back into soli- 
tudes of woods and wild pastures. 

No pen can describe an author’s 
soul, for God alone knows the inner 
thought. 

Cleveland Wilmore did not fail 
to feel and appreciate the lavish 
painting of the hand of God. To 
him nature never bloomed in vain. 
The green wood in which he finally 
found himself was pierced with ar- 
rows of ruby light from the golden 
sun. 

Walking up a long purple isle — 
with his soul full of nature’s music, 
he sat down o^n a moss-coivered rock 
and began to write for his new book. 

24 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“It takes love and nature to 
bring masterpieces from an au- 
thor’s soul,” thought he. And 
surely no scene could excel the 
mountain solitude where he sat. 
Wild flowers of many kinds and 
colors nodded around him as if they 
knew that “flowers afforded in- 
spiration for a poet’s dream.” 
Their penetrating, haunting fra- 
grance distilled on the sightless 
wings of the air and met him on 
every puff of wind, no matter where 
he sat or walked. In the very cen- 
ter of a wild garden of violets 
was a clump of blue forget- 
me-nots. The corners of the garden 
were gay with thickly-growing yel- 
low daffodils. Along the southern 
side grew a hedge of lilac trees and 
just inside the gap by which he had 
entered was a tall poplar. East- 
ward there were several branching 
25 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


bird cherries snowy with bloom; 
and everywhere, as it seemed, grew 
clumps of “bleeding hearts,” trem- 
ulous with spikes of rosy flowers. 
There were many wild rose bushes 
also, but it was too early in the 
season for roses. 

“I could fall asleep here and 
dream things almost too sacred for 
heaven,” he thought. 

Across the mellow stillness, min- 
gled with the croon of the wind in 
the trees and the calls of the robins, 
came a strain of delicious music, so 
beautiful and fantastic that he held 
his breath in astonishment and de- 
light. Was he dreaming? No; it 
was real music, the music of a vio- 
lin played by some hand inspired 
with the very spirit of harmony. 
He had never heard anything like 
it, and he felt quite sure that noth- 
ing exactly like it had been heard 
26 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


before — that the wonderful music 
was coming straight from the soul 
of the unseen violinist and translat- 
ing itself so into those most airy 
and delicate of sounds for the first 
time. It was an elusive, haunting 
melody, strangely suited to the time 
and place, and had in it the sigh of 
the wind in the spruce pines, the 
whispering of the grasses at dew- 
fall, the white thoughts of the lilies 
— and all the soul of the old laugh- 
ter and song and tears and glad- 
ness and sobs the mountains had 
ever known in the lost years; and 
besides all this there was a pitiful, 
plaintive cry, as of some impris- 
oned thing calling for freedom, for 
utterance. 

Enchanted with the music and 
anxious to find from whence it came, 
he arose and walked gently toward 


27 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


the brook and at last saw the mu- 
sic’s fair authoress. 

On the stone bench under the big, 
spreading maples, sat a mountain- 
brei girl beside her lover. There 
she held the violin in her slender 
fingers while their feet dangled 
from the moss-covered rock and 
nearly touched the rippling brook 
below. 

“I would not interrupt them for 
the world,” Wilmore thought as he 
turned to go back to his former rest- 
ing place. 

Then an inspiration possessed 
him, while his pen fiowed freely; 
and such beautiful thoughts that 
filled the lines of his writing tablet. 
Each day the author rambled 
amidst the mountain scenes and 
added to his new book. One of the 
author’s favorite resting places was 
in a grape vine hammock by the 
28 


THE VALLEY OFLOVE 

public road just above the ford of 
the creek and often the passing na- 
tives would stop and ask him to 
read aloud from his new book. 

And rarely did he refuse to read 
something, for he desired to show 
his appreciation for the many kind- 
nesses shown him at the hands of 
a people whom he once thought 
“killed every stranger for a rev- 
enue officer or a feud peacemaker.” 
It is true that at that time the feud 
spirit still lived in the hearts of 
many natives — and that “moon- 
shine” stills turned out many a gal- 
lon of “mountain dew” in the still- 
ness of night — in caves or under 
sloping cliffs — where no voice of 
man dared make an echo. 

But the lips of Cleveland Wil- 
more did not thirst for the “moun- 
tain dew,” nor did he express his 


29 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


opinions on either side regarding 
any feud. 

Neither did he care to visit the 
stills — ^but one cloudy morning he 
found one accidentally. They had 
just “turned otf” a “big run” the 
night before, and the operators 
were busy filling many large jugs 
of the profitable product. The au- 
thor was in twenty yards of the still 
before he saw it. Wilmore saw a 
scattering smoke ascending, several 
buckets and jugs sitting by a barrel 
and heard a low, rumbling sound of 
coarse voices. His heart leaped to 
his throat, for he at once realized 
it was death to him if they mistook 
him for a revenue officer. What 
could he do ? Must he run, stand or 
go up to where the men were work- 
ing? 

“I must do something, and that 
quickly!” thought Wilmore. Then 
30 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


he yelled out: “Hello, fellows! this 
is the author and I am your friend.” 

The author spoke this, standing 
perfectly sitill. In an instant eight 
large, rough men arose with drawn 
revolvers, pointed at Wilmore’s 
head. Each of the eight men held 
two revolvers^ — one in each hand. 

“Who be ye?” demanded a 
coarse voice. 

“Why, I’m the author,” said the 
victim, mildly. 

“He said he was the ‘officer,’ ” 
said one of the eight men. “Then 
we’ll shoot!” said another. “For 
God’s sake wait!” cried Wilmore. 
“I said that I was the author, not 
an officer. I’m the man who is writ- 
ing the new book.” 

“Well, say a poem,” said one, “if 
it be ye.” 

“Say it quick!” persisted a voice. 

What could the author recall to 


31 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


mind then and there? What a try- 
ing time for one so frightened ! 

Then the author forced out a 
laugh and said, “Why, fellows, I 
read to you last night from my new 
book.” 

Then the following silly rhyme 
came to his mind like a flash, and he 
recited loud and clear: 

“I’m innocent as a lamb. 

And full of fun; 

Scared to death. 

And afraid to run.” 

Then the guns were dropped and 
the whole crowd laughed. 

Silly as seems the rhyme, it ex- 
pressed Wihnore’s feeling and ac- 
complished the desired result to 
make peace with the rough men who 
might have harmed him. 


32 


CHAPTER V. 


Each day Cleveland Wilmore was 
found after mail time at the post- 
office — which was a small box in one 
corner of the storeroom, with small 
partitions across each way where 
the letters were placed. Each day 
his mail nearly filled a whole box, 
and the rosy-cheeked postmistress 
of eighteen years placed his mail in 
one comer to itself. 

The author had written a card 
addressed to Madge Ross and Una 
Nelson at Somerset, inviting them 
to join him in the mountains for a 
few days before he returned to the 
city. In his invitation he promised 
them a good time at horseback rid- 
ing, fishing and kodaking. When 
the card reached its destination, 
Una had gone to spend a week at 
her country home and Madge re- 
33 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


ceived the invitation with great joy. 

‘ ‘ My prayers are answered, ’ ’ she 
said to herself, as she climbed into 
the two-horse stage which was 
bound for the mountains. She had 
just written Wilmore a letter stat- 
ing that she would arrive on the 
afternoon stage. 

Cleveland Wilmore scanned his 
morning mail at the postoffice and 
came to the letter from Madge. To 
his surprise, it read as follows : 

“Dear Mr. Wilmore: Your kind 
invitation to join you in the moun- 
tains just received. Una is visiting 
her country home this week and I 
am so lonely. I will not say that I 
coming alone on your invitation, 
but I have decided to pay a long- 
promised visit to Jake Carter, our 
good mountain friend, who has 
called weekly at uncle’s inn for four 
years with his poultry wagon. He 
34 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


is a kind old gentlemen and has per- 
snaded me to visit his mountain 
home. I have met his wife and 
daughter and they also asked me 
toi come. So I will arrive on the 
afternoon stage on Tuesday of this 
week, and hope to see you soon. 

Cordially yours, 

Madge Boss.” 

Cleveland Wilmore folded the let- 
ter with a sigh, while his thoughts 
acted quickly. 

“My ill luck!” thought he, “that 
Una can’t come.” Yet he was half 
glad even to have Madge come and 
cheer his melancholy soul. 

Was he melancholy? Yes; for 
the first time in two weeks. 

“Well, I’ll meet Madge,” prom- 
ised Wilmore to himself, “and treat 
her kindly and try to show her a 
good time.” 

Madge Boss had a long, tiresome 
35 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


trip, and for a time enjoyed the 
scene on either side of the mountain 
road immensely. At times she could 
see from the tall hilltops for miles 
across the deep green valleys. But 
she quite forgot the scenery and 
busied herself in thought. 

“Will Mr. Wilmore think I’m too 
hasty? she thought. 

“He can’t think ill of me,” she 
consoled herself, “for I took the 
pains to let him know that I was 
visiting my friends.” 

Madge arrived on schedule time 
and was met at the stage by Wil- 
more. 

Each seemed glad to see the other 
and soon plans were made to enjoy 
the mountain recreation together, 
at least for a time. 

Jake Carter, the poultry peddler, 
and Madge’s friend, also met the 
fair visitor at the stage and took 
86 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


her direct to his home in a buggy. 

“How delightfully it all planned 
ont,” thought Madge, almnst over- 
joyed. 

Each afternoon after Madge’s 
arrival at Jake Carter’s home, 
Cleveland Wilmore walked with her 
in the pretty woodland dell where 
a few days before he had finished 
his new book. They could often be 
seen in the grape vine hammock at 
the public road crossing above the 
ford of the creek, where the author 
had read many poems of love to the 
passing natives a few days before. 

“The natives think we are lov- 
ers,” said Wilmore to Madge, one 
afternoon as they sat together in 
the grape-vine hammock. 

“How can they tell?” asked 
Madge, blushing. 

The author smiled. “Why, I 
read them some poems on love at 
37 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


this same place, several afternoons 
and now, they think that you are 
their inspiration,” responded Wil- 
more. 

Madge hung her head in silence. 

“What should I say next?” she 
thought. “Did he not approach the 
subject himself?” 

Silence prevailed for a moment. 

“What are you thinking of,” 
asked Wilmore. 

“Because,” answered Madge. 

“Because!” exclaimed the au- 
thor. “What a queer answer to my 
question. ’ ’ 

“Did you not ask me why I was 
silent,” said Madge excitedly. 

“No, little girl,” said he, “I 
asked what you were thinking of?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Madge, embar- 
rassed. Soon the conversation led 
off in discussion of the surrounding 


38 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


scenes and the moments passed 
swiftly. 

When Madge again sat with the 
Carter family at night, “Jake” 
asked the fair visitor where she and 
the author had rambled during the 
afternoon. She tried to describe 
the place, but knew no name to 
call it. 

“Oh, you mean ‘the valley of 
love’?” asked Jake. 

Madge blushed. 

“Where did it get its name?” 
asked Madge. 

“Why, there was where the au- 
thor wrote them poems on love, and 
since then we call it ‘The Valley of 
Love.’ ” 

“How queer!” responded the 
girl. 

Soon Madge Boss and Cleveland 
Wilmore left the mountains to- 
gether for Somerset, where Madge 
39 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


remained at her uncle’s inn, while 
Wilmore left for his home in Lex- 
ington — a beautiful Kentucky city 
in the “bluegrass belt.” Before 
the author left the mountains, how- 
ever, he wrote a poem at the re- 
quest of his mountain friends, en- 
titled, “The Valley of Love,” 
which, after he had left, was framed 
and placed at the postoffice where 
it could be read by the public. 
There are but few people who fre- 
quent that small postoffice in the 
Kentucky mountains who have not 
memorized every stanza of the 
poem. Some of the verses are 
hereby printed as follows: 

THE VALLEY OF LOVE. 

There is a place of solitude 
Bedecked with many a stone — 
Where lovers long to ramble 
Across the dell alone. 


40 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


The nightingale is singing 
With the cooing dove — 

And the brook is babbling 
In the valley of love. 

There is a land of maples 
Where vines hug the mountain — 
And where the winding streams 
Make a crystal fountain. 

There is a dell of flowers 
Where strife is on the wane — 
And the lovers wander 
Thru the lover’s lane. 

There is a shady woodland 
Where troubles seldom brew — 
Where the mountain natives 
To friends are kind and true. 

And here is sweet contentment 
Where mountains tower above 
The winding river’s bank 
In the quiet valley of love. 

Since Cleveland Wilmore’s visit 
41 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


to the mountains, this particular 
woodland dell is known by all as 
“The Valley of Love,” and many 
are the days when lovers wander 
along the cool moss-bordered cliffs 
and winding mountain streams and 
repeat to each other the author’s 
love poem, which was born in the 
solitude of those beautiful scenes. 


42 


CHAPTER VI. 

The author’s visit was long to 
be remembered by both girls, for it 
left a queer mystery as to which 
one of the two he really loved best. 

Una was disappointed that she 
had left the inn the week she might 
have joined the author with Madge 
in the mountains, and for days she 
exclaimed to herself, “Cruel fate! 
Cruel fate!” 

Indeed, it was too late to recall 
lost opportunity, for Madge had 
failed to even tell Una of the au- 
thor’s invitation to join him in the 
mountains until several hours after 
she returned from visiting her 
country home. 

This caused envy, strife and jeal- 
ousy between Una and Madge, and 
for weeks they had but little to do 
with each other. However, time 
43 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


healed their wounded feelings and 
they became friendly again. The 
author wrote them a letter occa- 
sionally — ^but not separately. He 
would address the letters to both 
the girls and request the cousins to 
consider them “partnership let- 
ters.” He showed no partiality to 
either and would even address the 
envelope to the “Misses Boss and 
Nelson, care of the Inn.” 

The girls answered the author in 
the same way. Una’s disposition 
was quiet and reserved, while 
Madge’s disposition was just the 
opposite. 

The author admired Una most, 
but neither of the girls knew it. 

Madge was a shrewd, winsome 
girl, with expressive black eyes and 
dark hair. Her complexion was 
fair as a lily and a pink flush shone 
in her cheeks. Her teeth were like 


44 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


a row of pearls, set in velvet red. 
The author had unconsciously won 
the love of both girls, yet never 
would they confess to each other 
that they loved him. 

Una had no correspondent except 
the author, and she hardly consid- 
ered him a correspondent, as he 
wrote to them both in the same let- 
ter, and then only occasionally. 

But Madge corresponded with a 
young doctor from the city, and 
Una did everything in her power to 
aid the doctor in winning her. 

It was a pleasant morning when 
the two fair cousins sat by the east- 
ern parlor window looking out upon 
a rich bed of violets and pansies. 
The postman opened the gate and 
Una ran to get the letter. She 
tossed the letter into Madge’s lap, 
saying, “here is a prescription 
from the medicine man.” 


45 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Madge took the joke good na- 
turedly and hastened to open the 
letter. 

“What’s the news” asked Una 
of Madge, after the letter was read. 

“He wants to call next Sunday,” 
said Madge. 

“Going to let him come, of 
course?” questioned Una. 

“It’s of no use,” responded 
Madge. 

“You’re mean,” spoke Una, 
“don’t you love him any more?” 

“Why should I?” asked Madge. 

“Why, he would make you a good 
husband,” said Una, smiling. 

“Never!” said Madge, earnestly. 

“Does she love Mr. Wilmore the 
best?” Una wondered. 

“Why could you never be a doc- 
tor’s wife?” asked Una. 

“Simply because I don’t love him 
is the first reason,” answered 

46 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Madge, “and then he is hardly 
more than a student — without prac- 
tice and can not promise a girl more 
than ordinary opportunities.” 

“What do you mean by ordinary 
opportunities?” asked Una. 

“His name would perhaps never 
even find its way to printed pages,” 
responded Madge, “and then a doc- 
tor’s wife must stay at home when 
she fain would travel amidst the 
wonders of the world in the realm 
of bliss.” 

“Oh, you have high ideas,” said 
Una. 

“Better have a high aim and 
never reach it,” responded Madge, 
“than live my life away with some 
one whom I can never love. ’ ’ 

The morning passed quickly and 
the girls were together no more 
during the day. When evening 


47 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


came Una lay awake in her room 
thinking. 

“ ’Tis no use to hope for the doc- 
tor,” thought she, “for Madge has 
made up her mind to win Cleveland 
Wilmore.” 

This thought pained her. Madge 
also lay awake planning shrewdly. 

“I’m tired of Wilmore ’s part- 
nership correspondence,” thought 
Madge. 

“If I can’t receive individual let- 
ters from him. I’ll give up the 
game. I’ll simply answer his last 
letter individually, ’ ’ she decided, 
“and see if he will return the 
same. ’ ’ 

This she did, but strictly kept the 
secret from Una. 

“Next is to get a private post- 
office box,” decided Madge in her 
shrewdness. Madge Boss carried 


48 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


out her plan and the author an- 
swered each letter courteously. 

In a few months the author and 
Madge exchanged photographs and 
corresponded regularly. 

“She’s a beautiful girl,” thought 
Cleveland Wilmore, on the morn- 
ing he received Madge’s picture. 
He stood it on the center table in 
his room, then took it his hand 
again. 

“Beautiful !” he exclaimed again. 
Then he thought of her expressive 
black eyes, wavy dark hair and lily 
complexion. He also thought of 
the human roses which adorned her 
cheeks. “And she loves me,” he 
said to himself. 

“Should I return her love?” he 
thought as he sat the picture back 
again. 

Then he thought of Una, to whom 
he had long since neglected to write. 

49 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Yet, in spite of himself, Madge 
had! charmed him with her devoted 
letters and beautiful photograph. 
Then she had seen him occasionally 
since the “mountain ramble,” and 
each time he showed her more con- 
sideration. 


50 


CHAPTER VIL 


It was late autumn when Cleve- 
land Wilmore returned from his 
New York publishing house to his 
home in Lexington. The Wilmore 
family was glad to welcome the fa- 
vorite son and he talked freely to 
them of his successful trip. 

“I was offered two thousand dol- 
lars for the manuscript of my new 
book,” said the author to the 
family. 

“Did you sell it!” asked the 
father, anxiously. 

“No,” responded the young au- 
thor. “It’s worth many times that 
amount to me. The book stores 
will sell the book for $1.50,” figured 
the author, “and I can furnish it to 
the stores for 90e per copy in lots 
of 500.” 


51 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“That’s encouraging,’’ said the 
father. 

“Cleveland, a letter came for you 
several days ago and we neglected 
to forward it.” Saying this, the 
mother handed to her son the letter 
showing the postmark of Somerset. 

“Madge has changed her way of 
writing,” thought the man, as he 
tore it open. Glancing at the last 
page, he read, “Una.” 

After reading it, he dropped a 
tear and sighed noticeably. 

“What is it dear?” asked his 
mother, sympathetically. 

“Bead it,” said the son as he 
handed his mother the letter, and 
Mrs. Wilmore read it in a soft, clear 
tone: 

“Mr. Cleveland Wilmore, 
Lexington, Ky. 

Honored Sir and Friend : Doubt- 
less you will be surprised to get a 
52 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


letter from one you have so neg- 
lected, but please pardon me. I 
now lay on my bed and the doctors 
say I must die of tuberculosis not 
later than the falling of the autumn 
leaves. I am fully aware of the 
fact and thus I address you now — 
for my time is short. Cleveland, I 
have loved you since we first met, 
and I am now free to confess it. 
Yet I ask not your love, for heaven 
is ready to receive me where there 
are no sighs, tears nor death. I ask 
but one thing of any one before I 
die, and that is just one talk with 
you at my bedside. 

Won’t you please come before I 
get too weak to see you? 

Cousin Madge is now by my side, 
and by her postscript you will see 
that she joins me in my request. 

Affectionately, 

Una.” 

53 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“P. S. — Dear Mr. Wilmore: 

Una is growing weaker each day, 
and must see you, if at all, at once. 
I hope you’ll come. Madge.” 

When the letter was read, every 
eye in the room shone of tears. 

“I will go to-morrow,” said Wil- 
more, as he dried his eyes. 

“You must,” joined the father 
and mother in one voice. 

The next morning he started for 
Somerset and soon stood by Una’s 
bedside. 

The same day the author arrived, 
the sick girl’s parents left for their 
country home for a short rest — for 
they thought that Una was much 
better. 

Madge nursed Una from the first 
day she took to her bed, and her ex- 
haustless kindness, care and pa- 
tience to the sick one was the com- 
ment of all who knew them. 


54 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


Arriving at the Inn Wilmore was 
met by Madge and escorted to the 
sick room at once. 

“She is most too weak to talk 
now,” said Madge to Wilmore, as 
they passed thru the hall. 

“Tell me all,” asked the author 
of Madge, as he halted in the large 
hall. 

“There is no time for delay!” 
responded Madge, with a distressed 
look, “she must see you at once!” 

The man hastened to the bed 
where Una lay while Madge stood 
by his side. Una recognized him 
with a smile as she extended her 
hand. He held her pale, white hand 
a moment and kissed it tenderly. 

“I’m so glad you are here,” said 
Una in a weak voice, “for tomorrow 
would be too late.” 

“I’m glad to be here,” sighed the 
tender-hearted man. 


55 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“Please sit here,” requested Una, 
as she pointed close to her breast. 
Wilmore sat upon the bed beside 
her. He took her hand in his. 

“I am dying,” she said softly, 
“and have one request to make be- 
fore heaven claims its own.” 

“It shall be granted, if possible,” 
said Wilmore tenderly. 

“I want you to promise me here 
and now to make Cousin Madge 
your wife,” said Una, growing 
weaker. He held her hand more 
tightly. Cleveland Wilmore looked 
at Madge, who stood close by in 
tears — and hesitated. 

Then he looked again at Una. 
“Won’t you please promise me 
quickly?” whispered the dying girl, 
“and let me die happy?” 

The author looked into Madge’s 
tearful face. 

“Madge, do you love me?” 

66 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


“Yes,” answered Madge between 
a smile and a sigh. 

Wilmore looked again upon the 
wishful face of the dying girl and 
saw that she was sinking lowly into 
death. 

‘‘Will you promise?” she 
pleaded. 

“Yes,” said Wilmore. “I prom- 
ise to make Madge Boss my wife,” 
and here the noble-hearted author 
again kissed Una’s hand, as he wept 
visibly. 

Una smiled a look of relief, and 
motioned for Madge. 

Madge came closer, quickly. 

“Will you promise to always be 
true to Cleveland?” asked Una, 
sinking rapidly. 

“Yes,” answered Madge, with a 
sob. 

“Then good-bye,” whispered the . 


57 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


dying girl. “May God protect and 
bless your lives.” 

She opened her eyes again and 
said: “Jesus has come; meet me 
in heaven,” and thus she passed 
away into the spirit world to join 
the angels. Una was a beautiful 
corpse, yet it was a sad and pa- 
thetic scene. She folded her own 
hands across her white bosom and 
a contented smile of sweet peace 
remained upon her face, in death. 
Her long auburn hair lay in bushy 
locks around her still head and the 
ends lay tangled upon the white pil- 
low. Una Nelson was buried ac- 
cording to her request, in the family 
graveyard upon the hill, and her 
grave is a green mound of moss and 
flowers — while a white marble stone 
bearing her name marks the body’s 
last resting place. 

Madge Boss’ name is now that 
58 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


of Mrs. Cleveland Wilmore, and 
many are the days when the happy 
couple visit Una’s grave, where 
they sprinkle the mossy mound with 
fresh water and leave fresh cut 
flowers to beautify the lonely spot 
where sleeps the body of the one 
who brought them together by her 
bedside when life was ebbing away. 

Often Cleveland Wilmore and 
his happy wife visit the picturesque 
mountains where they rambled in 
days gone by, and their hearts sing 
for joy in the solitude of “The 
Valley of Love.” 

The young doctor whom Madge 
rejected has long since married a 
woman of his own sphere, and three 
children live to bless their home. 

Cleveland Wilmore has the hap- 
piest wife in the world, and when 
she goes with him on his trips. 


59 


THE VALLEY OF LOVE 


strangers think them bride and 
groom. 

Wilmore’s name is to-day written 
within the halls of fame and often 
says that Madge inspires his pen. 

Their beautiful home adorns a 
wood-land dell in the city limits of 
Lexington — where luxury, loyalty, 
flowers and love make it a paradise. 

May God send happiness to every 
home — be it cottage, cabin or 
palace. 

The end. 


60 


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